Bereaved of Light
by emeraldphan
Summary: Based on the 1990 Kopit version starring Charles Dance. "There were so many things he didn't understand, this boy in the mask who was born in darkness..." Erik's life before and during the events of the 2 part series. Characters: Erik and Gerard
1. Chapter 1

There were so many things he didn't understand, this boy in the mask who was born in darkness…

Oh, Gerard tried to explain to him all the things he couldn't see, like the yellow ball in the sky called the _sun_, and the fluffy looking _clouds_, and _rain_, but what did such things mean to him, all the way down here below the earth? When would he ever see the sky in daytime, as others did, and watch it turn from blue to grey as it often did in Paris? Whenever Gerard took him up to the Opera House roof for some fresh air or just for a change of scenery the sky was always black, or a very dark shade of blue, sometimes sprinkled with stars, and this spectacle was more than enough for him.

And then there was the sun! Gerard showed him pictures of this mysterious yellow orb in books, telling him that the Earth revolved around it, that it was millions of miles away even though you could see it in the sky and that it provided light and heat to the world during the day. _ Day_. He struggled to understand that word down here, where it was always dark and where the sun could never penetrate.

"You know, you would never be able to look at the real sun for as long as that," he explained to the bewildered child who was unable to take his eyes off the picture, "It is so bright that it would blind you."

An object so bright it could blind you! Such a thing was beyond his comprehension, here in the eternal darkness where candles and lanterns provided the only light he needed. And why would anyone need more light than that?

In fact those items were really only for Gerard's benefit; he could see in the dark perfectly well, having known nothing else since his eyes first opened and he often led the older man around dark tunnels on their adventures, with his guardian desperately trying not to get left behind. Let the world Above keep their golden ball of fire; the darkness was where he belonged and the world here had excitement and discoveries of its own.

Gerard was from the world Above, but now he lived here to look after him. Sometimes though he was busy with the Opera House, where he was the manager and sometimes he had to go out for supplies, and in any case he still craved the light of his old world sometimes. So the boy was occasionally left alone and simply accepted this state of loneliness from an early age without question. Anyway, his guardian would always return down those steps with food from the Opera House kitchen and anything else they needed, like a benign god coming down from the heavens. Sometimes he would bring back a treat of some kind, which he would produce from under his cloak triumphantly – a book perhaps, or a bag of bonbons which would be rationed out carefully over the subsequent days. All these little moments of excitement in a dark world as Gerard tried to provide him with some scraps of normality.

"Tales of Ancient Greece," he announced proudly one day, holding out the aforementioned volume to his young ward, "I was searching for just the right book for you and the shop assistant was very helpful. He said his nephew loves this book".

This was followed by an explanation of _shop assistant_ and _nephew_, and in this way the boy learned. In theory anyway.

_Family_. Another concept he understood in theory, but not in practice. What could he truly understand about people who sat together around a dinner table every evening, of a husband and wife who lived with their children, of the words _mother, father, brother, sister_? He had none of those things, as far as he knew. His mother was simply a beautiful vision who once sang to him and stroked his hair, and sometimes he thought even that may have been simply an exquisite dream, or formed in his mind from Gerard's stories about her or from all the times he gazed at her portrait in her old room.

All he knew of _family_ was Gerard. _Gerard_. Who was he? All the child knew was that he was his uncle. But was he his father's brother or his mother's? Or just a friend of theirs? When questioned on the subject by this bright, inquisitive boy, he always changed the subject quickly. Somehow, the child knew that Gerard must have told him about being his uncle long ago when he was very small, so that the fact was always in his subconscious mind without him knowing how it got there.

It hardly mattered anyway, not in those early years. Gerard was _there_, his sole source of human interaction, the one who made his meals and read to him and brought him things to play with like the little toy boats that they sailed on the lagoon together. And most of all he was the one who comforted him…

It was Gerard he'd run to – of course – on that terrible day when he was no more than five, a day that would be embedded in his memory forever. The day he'd looked into the lagoon without his mask and seen what he believed to be a horrible sea monster looking back at him. Upon hearing the scream, his uncle had left what he was doing, run to him and picked him up in his arms. Then he had held him close while the distraught boy cried and cried, the sounds echoing upwards to the world Above.

"Make it go away! It's horrible!" he'd wept.

Trembling and fearful, Gerard had carried him to the table where they took their meals, sat on the bench and held him in his lap while the boy who was actually his son wept and begged him to protect him from the monster. And the beleaguered manager knew he would not be going Above today. The day he had dreaded for so long was finally here.

"Erik," he began, softly, gently, "I can't make the monster go away... I'm so sorry... The face you s-saw in the lagoon… It- it is yours…."

His cries would live in Gerard's memory for the rest of his life.

"No! No! It's not mine! It's not! I don't want that face! I want a face like yours! It's n-not f-fair!"

The boy could not see beyond his own fear and anguish, could not see the heart-breaking sadness in his "uncle's" eyes.

"Erik, hush... Erik, listen to me please.." he begged, trying to hold the child so that he would not hurt either of them, desperately trying to soothe him, wishing his beloved Belladora was still here. _She would know what to do…_

Sobbing gave way to hiccoughing and eventually the child had looked up, his eyes still streaming with tears.

"Erik, it doesn't matter what your face looks like. I love you and will always look after you for as long as you need me, I promise."

Even as they embraced, Gerard could not lie to him. He could not lie and tell the child that he was handsome or beautiful. He still flinched at seeing him without his mask, and always would, until the very end, but he would protect him, no matter what happened. With the greatest of reluctance he told the child that he must always wear his mask.

"You will not be frightened of your face again, if you wear it," he told the child gently, "You will never see it in the water again or in my mirror, or anywhere else. And you must always, always wear it when we go Above. I am… I am so sorry, Erik…" He handed the little boy his mask and watched in guilty relief as he put it on, hiding his face from view.

_What kind of father tells his child to cover his face?_ he thought sadly, in the privacy of his own bedroom late that night. But he could not change anything. Already there were rumours and stories about the ghost of the Opera House and already he was encouraging them, eager to grasp this opportunity given to him so unwittingly by a superstitious company. He may not be able to look upon his own son's face but he would protect him, just as he promised on that terrible day.

Always, from then onwards, there was always guilt in the older man's eyes when he looked at the child he had fathered secretly. Guilt for teaching his own son to call him Uncle Gerard, not Papa. Guilt that he could not love this child's face, or tell him the truth about their relationship. Guilt that he must hide the child down here, away from backward, ignorant people and the insults and prejudice that he would undoubtedly suffer.

_I'm sorry Erik_, his eyes always seemed to be saying, _I'm sorry I have to keep you here. If I could change the world I would…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed Part 1. Here is Part 2, which is a bit longer - let me know what you think of it!**

As the boy grew, so did Gerard's fears. His son knew without being told that he could not live Above, that people would be frightened of his face and would reject him. He knew that because he lived beneath an Opera House and when he and his guardian went to the opera together, they saw perfection on the stage. Beautiful young men and women with singing voices that soared to the heavens, elegant costumes, scenic backdrops, everything an opera had to offer. _Beautiful_. Yes, he understood that word; it was the opposite of what he was. The bad characters, with their ugly faces and deep bass voices were always defeated in the end, while couples with normal faces fell in love, although usually with tragic consequences.

The audience too were perfection, the wealthy elite of Paris all dressed up to the nines for their evening out, wives arm in arm with their husbands. If the boy had been less intelligent he might have supposed that the entire world consisted only of the Opera House, but he was far too well read for that, thanks to Gerard. However, it was easy to believe that beauty and perfection were all that the people Above craved, having never lived anywhere else from birth. Gerard did try to explain that not everyone was beautiful, that some were disfigured from birth, like he was, or they had been injured in a fire, perhaps, or had suffered a terrible illness like leprosy.

"Does anyone else look like me?" he asked quietly, with hope in his eyes.

"I don't know" his uncle replied truthfully, for if he had seen a similar face anywhere else he would surely have remembered it.

As the people Above would have rejected him, he felt less and less interest in that world and gradually stopped asking questions about it. The darkness was his world, and always would be.

They always sat in Box 5 to watch the opera together, which Gerard had procured for their exclusive use, thanks to a few more rumours of his own invention. Before he knew it, the boy was 14 and things were rapidly changing between them, but his love of music remained. He taught the child all he could about music but Erik quickly surpassed him in that field and every other field of knowledge too. Gerard's education in the village school back home had been decidedly average and he watched in interest, fascination and fear as the boy devoured every kind of learning – art, music, architecture, philosophy, mathematics, engineering, there seemed to be no end to it. He taught himself all kinds of musical instruments and his occasional secret visits to the music room to practice the piano only fuelled the ghost stories even further.

Gerard started to notice Erik's growing fascination with the love stories portrayed on the stage. All the melodramatic gestures, facial expressions and showy acting were normal to him, and he drank it all in. But on one particular night, the boy seemed entranced by the ballet dancers, and watched them move gracefully across the stage, all dressed in white, in an interlude between two dramatic scenes.

"Aren't they all lovely?" he sighed, turning towards his guardian who was looking at him cautiously.

"Look, Gerard, they're so beautiful, especially the dark haired girl on the left… They look so happy…"

Gerard's wariness turned to fear when his son began to describe a "funny feeling" in his stomach as he watched the attractive dancers. He immediately stood up and announced in a firm whisper that they were leaving, although it was only the first act, and despite Erik's protestations brought him back down below as quickly as possible. To his eternal regret, he never explained why he had been so uncomfortable that night. All he knew at the time was that his son was 14 now and there was more to fear than his face…

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

And so Erik grew towards manhood, taking a deeper interest in the running of the Opera House and deciding what operas to stage, who should take what role, all kinds of things. By the time he was 16 Gerard was renting an apartment nearby with Erik's blessing and did not live with him any longer, but of course the boy was hardly an average 16 year old. He had grown beyond his father figure by then although continued to receive visits from him regardless. Erik welcomed the sight of his "uncle" emerging from the secret entrance, with all the gossip and scandal of the world above, although he had little use for news about Parliament or what some Comte or vicomte was up to. The two were more like friends now and Gerard had a grudging respect for the younger man's dry wit and observations, which often helped to cheer him up after a busy day running the Opera House. And his son no longer saw him as a benign god, but respected him nonetheless, this kind, decent man who had given him everything.

Gerard already felt like a visitor to Erik's realm, even though he'd lived there himself for so long. He was always looking around warily at his son's bizarre creations and wondering _Who is this young man that I created? He is nothing like me or his mother… Why do I keep returning to him even though he no longer needs me?_

He sometimes wondered if his son would continue to tolerate him as he grew older or if there was a darker, angrier personality waiting to emerge after all this time alone…But his long ago promise, and his eternal guilt, drove him back down below, time after time.

And of course Erik continued to watch the operas from his private box, albeit alone now, watching the love stories unfold on the stage, knowing so much about the plot and yet nothing at all…

By the age of 18 he was regularly advising his "uncle" about his job and helping him make major decisions. He could move silently around the opera house now without being seen or heard and used this skill to his advantage. He enjoyed playing practical jokes on the shrieking divas that always seemed win the main roles, much to his displeasure, and these unfortunate women often found that their wigs, perfume bottles, or cosmetics seemed to go missing regularly only to turn up in the most unlikely places.

Gerard admonished him for this, of course, but he usually just laughed it off good naturedly, like the independent young man he had become. "But Gerard, it's so much _fun_!.. "He had outgrown parental discipline but despite his occasional temper and passionate nature he was usually polite and respectful towards his only friend. He liked to sprinkle their conversations with quotations from his favourite poems and plays – who else would he have practised them on, after all?

He was not cruel; Gerard had not raised him to be, but he did like to have a little fun to brighten up his day. One of his latest skills was ventriloquism and he used it without shame to embellish his practical jokes by throwing his voice into inanimate objects. He chose his victims carefully, sparing the quiet, the kind and the hard working members of the company. His favourite trick was to place a rat underneath the wig of a vain, unpopular diva, making it look like the wig was moving along the dressing table… It usually sent them running screaming out of their dressing rooms, much to the secret amusement of their overworked costume assistants.

By the time he was in his 20's he was certainly well respected, and just as his "uncle" had hoped, no-one ever dared to go down to the cellars and find him. He was safe, and would remain safe, as long as Gerard was there to protect him in this strange interdependent relationship that they seemed to have developed. Neither of them could bring themselves to contemplate the alternative.

The Phantom of the Opera was here to stay, and Gerard watched a mixture of satisfaction and doubt as his son adopted the role with such aplomb. Of course, the Phantom sent notes to his "uncle" too as the years went by, so as not to cause suspicion, and Gerard would always play along, feigning anger and indignation at receiving orders from the ghost. No doubt, the manager did well financially from the legend, as people flocked to the opera to see if they could catch a glimpse of the elusive phantom, and he had no qualms about sharing the takings and the credit with the unconventional young man he had raised secretly.

Erik did not like anyone using his private box, and superstition declared that it must be left empty, which suited him perfectly. He owed so much to his guardian; that was for sure. Occasionally he wondered about Gerard and why any man would dedicate so much of his life to raising a child he was not related to in such a place as this. Or how his eyes were more like his "uncle's" than the eyes of the young woman in the portrait.

But for most of the time he simply enjoyed being king of his underground realm where he could worship music without interruption. He lived alone as he had always known he would, and built a magical, whimsical world for himself, entirely suited to his eccentric tastes. And sometimes at night he would wander around the world Above, or at least the Opera House, admiring everything, slowly exploring the building that he knew so well. He watched the operas, savouring them, making notes of improvements that needed to be made and finding inspiration for his own music. Yes, he was happy, in those moments at least.

But despite all this, Erik would always retreat to his underground home alone and dejected, after watching all the couples depart together after the final curtain, back to their everyday lives.

For he knew that he was destined to live here in the bowels of the Opera House, that he would never walk in sunlight as other men did. He knew that no woman would ever look on his face and love him, that he could never win the heart of a princess like the hero in a story book, that that although he may be king of the strange world below the opera house, he would never have a queen.

And a few streets away, Gerard would kneel in his silent apartment every evening and silently pray: _Please, Lord, please… Don't ever let him fall in love…_


	3. Chapter 3

**I know I said that this would be a 2 part story but I started getting ideas for this chapter and let's just say it grew from there! Having said that, I'd love to hear what you think. Does this chapter add anything to the story or should I have just left it at 2 chapters? All opinions are welcome!**

His son was thirty now. _Thirty_. That meant it was twenty seven years since this bizarre excuse for parenting began. He lived alone, as Erik did, albeit for different reasons, quietly accepting the fact that he would never marry or have other children, for between running the Opera House and... checking up on Erik, his time was not his own. And anyway, how could he ever replace his Belladora?

Over the years he had not had much time to spend mourning her at length but he still managed to spend a few minutes looking at her portrait whenever he visited Erik. This usually happened while Erik was occupied with something else, of course, for how could he explain how he gazed adoringly at some long dead woman that he supposedly did not know very well? And he sometimes wondered how long before his son demanded to know why he was still visiting at every opportunity.

He was locked into this arrangement now, as was Erik. Having to inform all new members of staff about the "ghost", constantly apologising to patrons and singers alike for some outrageous practical joke, reading out the latest demands… Sometimes he was tired of it all. Sometimes he wished he could go back to being a stage hand. Or a blacksmith, like his father. Oh, to have a job where he was not always covering up, explaining, apologising, consoling, panicking or, occasionally, spending more time below the ground than above it…

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Erik did not like many of the snobby patrons who cared nothing for music but who came to the opera to be seen. Did they realise how often he watched them coming and departing? This ghost that scared and fascinated them often listened in on their mindless conversations without ever being seen. Sometimes it was just women discussing clothes and hairstyles. And sometimes he heard things that could have ended a marriage, divided a family or ruined a career…

It was his teasing of that arrogant politician that made Gerard lose his rag for the first time in ages. He saw the plump, ambitious middle aged man being ushered in a side door by Gerard himself, who was bowing and scraping as usual. He was a regular patron but on this occasion he was accompanied by a rather over-dressed much younger lady with a haughty air and the two of them looked very secretive. Upon seeing this Erik thought he would have some fun.

Moving with his usual stealth, he carefully positioned himself near their box waited until there was a lull in the music. After making a quick mental note that one of the violinists sounded flat, he made his voice sound like it was right beside the man's ear.

"Good evening, sir. I trust you are enjoying the music?"

The politician jumped, then panicked when he could see no-one. His companion looked startled too, and asked him what was wrong, looking around to make sure no-one could see them.

"It is an excellent opera, is it not? Is your friend enjoying it?"

"Who is this?" he demanded, trying to keep his voice down.

"Haven't you heard of the phantom of the opera?"

"Now, you look here! You think you're so clever, don't you-"

"Does your wife know about _her_?"

"How dare you! I know you're no more of a ghost than I am and I will ensure that every inch of this place is searched until they find you-"

He was interrupted by maniacal laughter coming from somewhere in the box. More and more people were looking up and others were making shushing noises.

Knowing that he couldn't risk being seen here, he left quickly, taking the young lady with him and the moment they left, the laughter ceased almost as suddenly as it had begun.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Normally Erik could set his watch by Gerard's arrivals, but the following morning he had hardly finished washing his breakfast dishes when the older man burst through the secret opening. For a brief moment he was taken by surprise but recovered quickly, his hands spread out in an ironic gesture of welcome.

"O brave new world that hath such people in't!" he quoted drily.

"You really need to find yourself some new quotations," Gerard retorted.

"I am assuming you didn't come here to discuss Shakespeare with me."

"Indeed not! Erik, what were you thinking? M. Delamonte is a very influential politician and a regular patron here. I have done a lot of apologising _on your behalf _I might add, and have had to give a full refund and promise him free admission to several performances, from which I hope and pray you will be absent. I have of course explained about the ghost but he is not as easily persuaded as others have been."

"He had no right to come here with that – that..." Erik was almost incoherent with fury. "He has a wife! And he comes here with another woman!"

"As do many of our patrons, as you well know."

"You were practically smuggling them in!"

"Erik, I am the manager of an Opera House, not a priest. I, or should I say, we, cannot just chase away the patrons with whom our moral values are at odds. It is not our job to question their morality."

"If he is lucky enough to have a wife…" Erik's voice faltered here and this did not go unnoticed by Gerard. The truth was that his simple, uncorrupted morality could not endure such aberrations. "If he is so blessed, he should respect and love her… Why do people Above do these things? Why do they not appreciate what they have?"

Gerard sighed and found himself unable to answer. He excused himself and turned away, aware of Erik's eyes still upon him as he strolled towards the lagoon, thinking quietly. He himself could hardly stand on the high moral ground, having made Belladora pregnant outside of marriage all those years ago. And she was not his first lover either… He suddenly found himself thinking of Elise, wondering if she was still alive and if that child really had been his. _It could have been anyone's_ he reasoned. _That was not a true marriage_…

Perhaps God had planned all this for him, because of his wild youth? Teaching him about responsibilities, commitment, taking care of another human being… Yes, he had become a better person through Erik, unable to simply think about himself any more. But it had been a hard fought battle, especially after Belladora's death. To think he had wished for the child to die as well, just so he would be free of his responsibility! No, that was in the past and he could not imagine his life without Erik now.

Walking back towards the living area, he looked at this mysterious young man, in his cloak and white gloves, and thought of his eccentricity, his temper and his dominant nature, kindled by all those years of living alone in his own world. But he also thought of his kindness, his sense of humour, his immense talent and all that intelligence. All wasted down here. How different things could have been if only he had raised his son as other men did!

_Tell him_ he kept thinking _Tell him he's your son_... But he could not. Still could not.

He just looked at Erik, who seemed to have given up waiting for a response to his outburst and was now playing a simple piece on his beloved violin. Long silences were practically normal down here and music helped to fill them. Gerard sat down and closed his eyes, drinking in the beautiful music that Erik created. After a little while, he looked at the younger man and shook his head slowly.

"Everything is so simple to you, isn't it?" he sighed, "Down here, away from all the complexities of the world." Erik put down his violin and looked at him.

"You're right, you know," Gerard continued sadly, "There's so much wrong with my world, and I'm sometimes ashamed of it. Sometimes I wish I could just hide down here with you again. Everything's so much simpler here."

He smiled at his son, who had just poured him out a cup of tea with his customary refined gestures and who was now looking at him with those innocent eyes that always seemed to be longing for something that Gerard could not provide.

Erik poured out his own cup and drank it as if he was in the drawing room of a grand chateau. "To be honest, you weren't as angry as I thought you'd be," he told Gerard with a grin, "Not like the time I hid Madame Villiers wig in a tuba…"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"I am sorry Erik but I need to go and get ready," Gerard told Erik as he perused the shopping list. _His tastes are getting stranger and stranger_ the older man thought, shaking his head, _He actually wants a picnic basket! To go for picnics in his "forest!"_

By this time Erik knew his friend and guardian as well as he knew himself and Gerard's slumped shoulders and slow pace did not go unnoticed.

"Something tells me your heart is not in this little endeavour," he commented shrewdly, "The masquerade ball is the main social event of the year for-"

"-staff and performers alike, yes, I know, I know..." Sighing he got up and put on his hat. "Oh, a few years ago I did enjoy going to it. But now.." He looked down at the ground. "I'm old Erik. I'm too old for all this. But as the manager I'm expected to attend, make a speech thanking everyone, probably dance with a few of the ladies…"

Erik watched Gerard prepare to leave and as he was heading towards the secret entrance he called him back. His friend turned around to find the normally assertive young man rubbing the back of his neck and looking at the ground.

"Gerard…Aren't you going to escort someone this evening? A lady, I mean?"

Gerard stared at him. In all these years he had never, not once, asked such a personal question.

"No," he replied after a pause, "Nor do I wish to. I'm too old and too busy for all that kind of thing nowadays."

Both men avoided eye contact in the silence that followed, as they walked to the bottom of the steps together.

"You are lonely too, are you not?" Erik asked, with surprising softness.

"Sometimes… But it's fine, you know, I like going back to my quiet apartment after a busy day, and… well, if I need a chat I know I can always come down here!"

"Indeed… After all, where would I be without your incessant scolding, nagging, worrying and general nosiness?"

"Hm, if you're dishing out sarcastic comments again, that means it's time for me to leave. Well, let's hope this ball doesn't go on all night."

"I could always make an unexpected entrance – that would bring it to an end for you."

"Erik!"

He could hear his son chuckling as he made his way back to his lair. With his heart a little less heavy, he ascended the steps back to the more mundane world.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and in particular to deadtom for her help with this one! It was hard to write so all comments and suggestions are welcome.**

Gerard sank into his chair and breathed a sigh of relief that the long, stressful day was over. Thankfully that vain, horrible woman was dismissed at last. It had been a long struggle though, with himself and the musical director trying to persuade her that her voice was simply "not appropriate" for opera and that the operas performed here did not suit her voice… Anything but the truth; the truth being that she never bothered turning up for rehearsals most of the time, that she did not have one scrap of talent or even potential talent, that she constantly demanded changes to her costume, hairstyle, even the scenery…

Of course, it had all started with one of Erik's infamous notes:

_My dear lady, _

_For many years now, La Traviata has been one of my favourite operas; indeed the current production is something of a treat for me. However in my humble opinion it would be a much better opera if you were not playing the main part. In fact, having considered all the roles, both major and minor, (in my professional capacity, you understand) I cannot find any suitable role for you and therefore out of the kindness of my heart I would suggest that you resign with immediate effect. _

_With regards to an alternative career, you may be able to find employment as a street vendor where your loud, discordant voice would be most useful._

_Your friend,_

_The Phantom of the Opera_

On reading this note, which was thrust under his nose by the lady in question, Gerard almost burst from trying to suppress his laughter. He could not get rid of the mental image of Madame Moreno working as a street vendor and shouting about her wares, dressed in an outlandish wig and all her finery. The lady herself was shocked and insulted of course, but regardless of this development she needed to go, and go she did, muttering under her breath about "jumped up stage hands" who had "ideas above their station". But after all these years, such disparaging remarks were nothing to Gerard.

Now he was in his office, finishing off his paperwork, tidying up and getting ready to go home for the day.

"You did well today," came a voice from within the wall and Gerard knew exactly who it was.

"Erik! Were you listening earlier?"

"Of course. I like to keep an eye, or sometimes an ear, on events in our Opera House."

"I'm glad she's gone. Where on earth did she get the idea she could sing, or act for that matter? Nobody else liked her and it's not surprising. Horrible piece of work."

"Pity you didn't tell her that earlier".

"I wanted to, believe me, and more besides. But I can't, you know that, Erik. I can't be like you, not here in a place like this."

"You called her a "horrible piece of work". That's what I was thinking earlier. Those very words."

"Really?"

"Indeed. And I have a feeling you enjoyed my little note too."

"I do believe it was... something along the lines of what I would have written. If I wasn't the manager, that is. Erik, I envy you sometimes, being able to express yourself so freely. Perhaps we do have some similarities-"

Gerard stopped abruptly, mid-sentence. _What on earth am I thinking of, saying that? I might as well just tell him the truth about us and be done with it…_

But instead, he rose quickly from his desk, which was still untidy, before putting on his coat with awkward, fumbling fingers and locking his office door, only to turn around and see Erik standing there in the flesh.

"I was getting bored, talking to you through the wall," he stated simply, after Gerard had gotten over the fright.

"How on earth do you move around so quickly?"

"I can't understand how you people move around so _slowly_," he replied with a shrug, "Allow me to walk you to the door, at least."

As they parted at the entrance, Erik did something unexpected. He extended his hand for Gerard to shake, which he did willingly, but there was something in those eyes, something sad and indefinable that longed for more. But Erik would have been about five when he'd last hugged him, he couldn't start now, they were both adults, a hug would tear down the barrier that Gerard fought so hard to maintain… The manager who hated hearing weak excuses from his employees for their lateness or bad workmanship was certainly adept at creating a few of his own at moments like this.

It was strange, Gerard thought as he walked home alone. Sometimes he thought about inviting Erik home for a cup of tea, or for dinner, or even to sleep on his sofa, just to let him experience being in a house above ground. Erik... this eccentric character who barely knew what a father was and yet still longed for one, deep down. It was easier to believe that they were different people; it helped Gerard to sometimes pretend there was no blood tie between them at all. But maybe they weren't that different after all? They had the same sense of humour and usually liked the same music too. Most of all, Erik would often say the very things that he would have said himself if his job didn't forbid it.

Yes, they both wore masks, but his mask was invisible…

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

That year before Christine arrived, and before Gerard's successor, and all the events that happened afterwards… they were good days, all in all. Looking back, Gerard would imagine that year as a time when everything seemed to be building towards something, but that may have been with the benefit of hindsight. At the time, everyone was just living in the moment, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen.

Gerard was a popular manager; firm but fair, and considered to be a true gentleman. Privately, many of his employees felt rather sorry for him being at the beck and call of a mysterious "ghost" or at least, that was how it seemed to them. He had several genuine friends among the patrons, including Philippe, the amiable, fun-loving Comte de Chagny who, strangely enough, reminded him of himself at that age. A wealthier, more handsome version of himself of course. He'd started coming to the Opera with his parents when he was fourteen or fifteen and was now a regular visitor. Gerard did not approve of the his friend's succession of lady friends, or the way he gave them false hope of a singing career but nonetheless he was a fairly likeable young man, if a little superficial. Now that the older Comte was dead, he used to tease the manager about being his second father.

They would often sit together for performances or attend functions in the nearby bistro, where most of the company liked to spend their free evenings. Philippe would tell him news about Comte-de-this or Vicomte-de-that, meaningless names for the most part but always delivered in that easy going manner that endeared him to everyone he met. Sometimes Gerard would think of his son, alone in his lair and feel guilty for cultivating this friendship. But why shouldn't he befriend someone who could walk above ground, in broad daylight? It wasn't as if Erik could accompany him anywhere in public – was it?

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"I see your friend was here again last night," Erik remarked curtly. He was not very fond of the Comte, who seemed to demand so much of his only friend's time.

"He is very nice when you get to know him," Gerard replied.

"Well, I don't think that's possible for me, is it?" Erik sneered, and not for the first time, there was a note of accusation in his voice. The older man looked at the ground.

"I'm sorry," his son conceded at last, and Gerard breathed a sigh of relief. They were walking through the "forest", a place which still unnerved him a little and when he stopped to lean against a tree, he jumped when he felt something furry under his hand. Furry and lifeless, like all the other "animals".

"That's just a squirrel, he won't hurt you," Erik assured him.

"Indeed not…"

"I wanted to talk to you about, well, about your workload and how it's affecting you. You know, I'm not that little boy any more; the one you used to read fairy tales to. I have no doubt that you will continue to keep people away from here but you have a busy job and you don't have to keep visiting me in addition to your regular duties. I cannot keep you to an arrangement that is tiring you out."

There it was, laid out on the table for him.

"I _do_ need to keep coming down, you see... I used to…" _I used to know your mother. That "explanation" is no longer enough. But what else can I say, after all these years?_

"Gerard, I cannot keep expecting you to make that journey down here. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself and am very grateful for everything you've done. But you are not as young as you once were-"

"Nonsense, I'm not that old!"

"Oh, come on my friend!" he chuckled, "we both know you're old enough to be my father!"

Gerard's heart lurched in his chest. His heart thumped so loudly he was almost sure that Erik could hear it as the word hung between them, like a dagger. There was a brief, fleeting moment where their eyes met; those eyes that were so alike, if only Gerard could accept it.

_He knows…_

But he couldn't know, it was ridiculous, they'd never spoken of such things… _I have to keep going, as if nothing has happened…_

Tapping his fingers against a branch in a pointless rhythm, he cleared his throat and kept his eyes on the grass at his feet, if it actually was grass, that is... His whole body felt like lead.

"N-no, I'm happy to come here, from time to time, whenever it suits you," he blurted out, trying to avoid those eyes that seemed to read his mind. _But that idea is ridiculous too, no-one can do that, can they?_

""If you wish to keep visiting then, I can only thank you and look forward to seeing you here again soon," Erik announced, in a tone that sounded like a head waiter bidding farewell to an occasional customer. Which was ironic, considering he'd never even set foot in a restaurant.

Gerard couldn't remember what he said next or how he managed to get away, or even his long trek back to the surface. He was distracted and distant that day, which garnered sympathetic enquiries from everyone, all of which were met with vague replies about feeling a bit tired.

It wasn't just Erik. It was everything. Perhaps he was getting old, after all? He hardly noticed the mysterious Italian couple that began frequenting the Opera House, looking around at everything in fascination, or the way they were questioning the employees and regular visitors and making notes in elegant notebooks. He tried to ignore Comte Philippe's ever-changing female companions or the ladies he sent to Paris for singing lessons that never materialised.

Much later, when it was all over, he wondered if his complacency and cowardice had contributed to it all. Sometimes things just happen for no apparent reason, sometimes there is no way of preventing them from happening but even then, there is still that very human tendency to wonder... "what if?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed the previous chapters. This chapter is the start of a new phase of the story – Part 2 if you like. We're moving into the events of the film now, so it will feel a bit different. I'm going to try to fill in a few gaps and take a "sideways" view of what is happening, rather than a line-by-line retelling. Gerard features heavily in this chapter but I will try to write more about Erik next time. Please let me know what you think!**

That fateful day was ominous from the start, with the black clouds gathering overhead, as if trying to decide whether to rain or not and the carriage that nearly knocked him over as he crossed the road to the imposing structure of the Opera House. But most of all, it was just a feeling of general misery rather than impending doom that weighed him down that morning. His responsibilities felt so overwhelming and he dreaded that it would be the kind of day where everyone would direct their queries, complaints and problems to him and where, in general, everything would go wrong.

This feeling was not improved by that oily, sanctimonious gentleman with his silly moustache who met him in the foyer before he even had a chance to remove his hat and introduced himself in mangled French as Alain Choletti – the new manager.

No, that was not a good day in the scheme of things. Gerard struggled to understand why, after thirty years, he was being put aside for a businessman who, as far as he could tell, had no interest in opera or the arts. Well, the reason was fairly obvious, he supposed: money. How else could Choletti have taken the post so quickly and without ceremony? What was going to happen to the Opera House now? And what would happen to Erik?

He'd dreaded this day for a long time now. True, he would have to retire some day, but he had always hoped he could decide on a new manager himself, someone he could trust, someone with whom he could share the truth about Erik, or at least some of it. But now Choletti was in charge along with his odious wife, who seemed to think that this was the start of a wonderful career in opera for some inexplicable reason. And how on earth could he keep them away from Erik? They didn't show any inclination that they believed in ghosts and that very day Carlotta unwittingly sent her assistant Joseph Buquet to his death down below, already disregarding all the rumours that Gerard had so carefully encouraged.

"It's all changed now, hasn't it?" Erik had remarked upon hearing the news, and it was true in so many ways. Buquet's death had been an accident, at least that's what Erik swore to him and Gerard had no reason to doubt his account. But would there be others? "Those who go down there never return" – that was a rumour, not a fact. Until now, that is.

He arrived home to his lonely apartment, which seemed lonelier and quieter now. Defeated, he sank into an armchair and closed his eyes. As he sat there in a silence that was only broken by the ticking of the clock, strange, disconnected images of his life swam before him. Elise, so long ago. Their furtive wedding day. Her swelling stomach as she stood in the doorway of their house as he left for Paris. Belladora, hurrying out of the rehearsal room with her friends and turning around to smile shyly at him as he swept the floor. Her sweet body as they lay in their special place by the river. Her feverish, sweating face as she died, still thinking of Erik, begging him to look after the child he could hardly bear to look at. And Erik, crying for his mother, running towards his guardian with his little arms extended and the hesitant, fearful embrace that Gerard comforted him with.

He was a failure. An utter, abject failure. He'd married a girl he didn't love, blaming her for leading him on with her flirtatious eyes. He'd put Belladora into a shameful position and hidden the truth from her out of cowardice. Her aunt with whom she lived had thrown her out upon discovering her niece's condition. She had died because of him, hidden away below the Opera House in those unhealthy cellars where Erik now lived because his own father allowed him to think that he deserved to live down there in the darkness.

And now he didn't even have his job. The job that kept him busy and active, that his whole life revolved around. Choletti must have been planning this, during all those visits he made, but he'd been too blind to notice.

He took a holiday by the sea, hoping to clear his head, but his failures and guilt followed him there, as he walked along the beach listening to the gulls and the waves. He hoped he would not meet anyone he knew. To the Opera House regulars he was Gerard Carriere, the charming, efficient, affable manager, always ready with small talk, never failing to enquire about sick mothers or recently married daughters, always knowing everyone's favourite seats, productions and performers. But that was his mask, his outward, public identity. True, the Opera House was a huge success, but that was due to Erik's rather forthright advice and superior knowledge. And now that much lauded, public version of Gerard Carriere was no more, just this cowardly mess that he saw when he looked in the bathroom mirror.

Everyone would be better off without him.

On a number of occasions, he strayed to the waters' edge, wondering how easy it would be to just keep walking into the waves and let the sea cover him. But he couldn't do it.

Even when he was back in Paris, he wandered with a heavy heart by the low banks of the Seine, where Belladora had once tried to end it all, and thought of the blessed relief available in its depths. But something kept holding him back. That masked face kept haunting him, with the soft, pleading eyes that he could never fathom.

And he chose to live, for Erik's sake.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was good having freedom. He could wander around the shops at leisure, or enjoy coffee at a pavement café, without having to hurry back to work. Usually his days off were spent shopping for Erik's necessities or other practical matters, but now he could do as he wished. Paris was opened up to him, with its parks, museums and markets, and he revelled in his new, less stressful life. One day, about a month after his dismissal, he came home to find a note on the doormat. It was from Philippe, saying how sorry he was about his position and inviting him to a party at the bistro tonight. In addition, he wrote, he wanted him to hear this young lady that he had discovered singing at a country fair. _Another in a_ _long line of female companions_, Gerard thought with a sigh.

Despite the fact that Choletti and his horrible wife would almost certainly be there, he decided to go. He had many friends among the company after all, and it would be good to have an evening out and see young Philippe again. With his spirits buoyed a little, he went to his bedroom to get ready.

Philippe welcomed him enthusiastically and they sat together for a while, trying to make themselves heard over the din of conversation and spontaneous folk songs. The comte tried to entertain him with a "very funny" story about a party of some Baron's wife that he went to recently "and who should turn up but her husband's former mistress! Honestly, you could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.." They were constantly interrupted by well-meaning sympathisers, but it was good to be among friends again in this lively atmosphere.

As the evening wore on, Gerard watched with amusement as the young man endured Carlotta's attempts at flirtation while trying to persuade her to teach this mysterious young girl. And then, the young lady arrived in person and was welcomed by Philippe, who soon managed to charm her into singing on the stage in that playful manner so familiar to his old friend.

She did sing. Even with the babble of chatter, glasses clinking, all the usual noise, she sang. When Carlotta tried to upstage her with her loud, overpowering voice, she did not flinch but allowed her voice to soar to heights that the older woman could not dream of reaching. She was perfect, and everyone was beginning to turn around and take notice of her, especially after Carlotta stormed off in frustration. All eyes were now upon her alone, including Philippe who could not remember her singing this well at the fair.

_This isn't possible_, Gerard thought as he watched her from a distance, _My eyes must be deceiving me_. But no, it wasn't his imagination. She was there on the stage, his own Belladora, as beautiful as ever! The same eyes, the same smile, everything he once loved about her. And most of all, that voice… the one he'd first heard in their secret place, in their secret time alone where she sang only for him. The room seemed to disappear and the years fell away as he stood there, transfixed, unable to move, remembering….

The applause brought him to his senses and shook him out of the past. She could not be Belladora, of course, and yet… How was this possible? Were the two of them related in some way? He hadn't known her family; as far as he knew there was just that horrible aunt. It was uncanny, just uncanny… Composing himself he allowed Philippe to introduce him to her, but as it turned out she had never heard of his long ago love. But still…

It was Jean Claude, the friendly doorman from the Opera House who alerted him to Erik. When he saw that familiar masked figure standing below the window, he was confused for a moment_. Why is he here? Erik never goes outside, except for fresh air occasionally, and he certainly never leaves the environs of the Opera House._

Something was going on, that was for sure. He watched Christine, for that was her name, and Phiippe leave together, then found a less crowded corner and tried to work out exactly what was happening. But the increasingly boisterous music made it impossible so he headed for home, all the while looking out for Erik who was probably far ahead of him by now. He chose to travel on foot, allowing him time to think over the events of the evening.

Christine could sing. She didn't need the music lessons that her suitor was clearly planning for her, and he obviously hadn't known she could sing so well. Nor did anyone else there, from what he could gather. Even Gerard knew that an improvement like that did not just happen by itself. And then there was Erik, lurking in the shadows just as Christine finished her song. _ Listening_, he thought to himself, _He came to listen to her_.

Gerard was oblivious to the few passers-by he met as he walked home, his head down, his hands stuffed into his coat pockets. The pieces of the puzzle were slowly falling into place. Erik was teaching her. He had taught her to sing like that and tonight he came to hear her perform in public for the first time. But why? He'd never shown the slightest interest in teaching anyone, or even interacting with anyone before. All the singers he'd heard over the years, many with potential talent that he could have nurtured. Why this girl?

Something was going on. This was why he was still here, why he needed to keep going and not just mope away at home. His life was still bound to Erik and he needed to find out why his son was so interested in this particular girl. Surely he couldn't be... No, he couldn't be in love with her, could he?

He could not sleep that night. His son was surely treading on dangerous ground, spending all that time alone with a beautiful young girl in secret. A girl who looked like his mother. Gerard could not dwell on that thought for too long. He knew Erik too well and knew the depths of his emotions, not just his anger but his sadness, his need for love, his loneliness. His son knew little of this world, of how men and women interacted. What if Christine was in danger? And then there was Philippe who was clearly attracted to her, not to mention the fact that the two of them left in his carriage together. Had Erik seen them?

Christine was not his lost love, and he was too old to delude himself about young ladies. But he must protect her from what lay ahead. And he must protect his son too. The two of them had given him a reason for living.

**I'm sorry if some of this chapter felt depressing but this kind of reaction seemed reasonably likely given Gerard's circumstances and background. Just remember – he chose to keep going!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Long chapter alert! It feels like a filler chapter, despite the length, but hopefully the next one will move things on a bit. Please review!**

A few days later, when there were no performances at the Opera House and the building was occupied by a handful of charladies, a lone figure strolled into the foyer and, glancing around carefully, turned the black statuette that few people cared for and watched as a panel opened in the wall. If anyone had been around at the time they would have seen the former manager slip through this gap in the wall and mysteriously disappear. But Gerard was too cautious after all this time; those entrances and exits were known only to himself and Erik and he still intended to keep it that way, despite recent events. Besides, he was too intent on his mission to allow such thoughts to bother him.

Erik was playing a lively little tune on his flute and was looking resplendent in his cloak and gold mask. The king of his domain, no less. And yet despite his nonchalant air Gerard knew he had been waiting for him.

"Ah, Gerard! It seems you cannot keep away! What brings you down to Hades, yet again?"

"I take it you received my note? The one I left in Box 5?"

Erik chuckled and laid down his flute carefully on a pile of sheet music. "Writing notes is supposed to be _my_ job. But what is it that you wanted to speak about so urgently?"

Gerard sat down without waiting for an invitation, as was his custom by now. He sighed and looked at Erik with the troubled expression that the younger man knew all too well, trying to gather his thoughts. His son removed his mask with a flamboyant gesture and Gerard flinched a little but to his relief the flesh-coloured mask was underneath, as usual.

"I need to ask you something and you must be honest with me. Are you giving lessons?"

With a swirl of his cloak Erik sat in his usual chair and began idly leafing through a book which was lying on the adjacent table. He paused slightly, but only slightly.

"Lessons? What, you think the Conservatoire has started sending me pupils? Did you tell them where I live?" There was a smirk appearing on the visible part of his face but Gerard was not amused.

"Are you giving lessons to a young lady called Christine?"

Erik closed the book slowly and although he managed to retain his calm demeanour his shaking hand gave him away a little.

"Yes," he replied after a long pause, closing his eyes briefly, "I am giving lessons to Christine Daae." His voice was calm and professional. "She was a costume assistant when she came here several weeks ago, the day you were dismissed in fact, and I heard her sing when she thought she was alone. It was a... very fine voice, but clearly untrained. So I approached her the following night and offered to teach her. She agreed and that is what I have been doing since then."

"At night? Just the two of you?"

Erik nodded, still calm, still composed.

"She has been making excellent progress and has worked very hard. Her voice is... unlike anything I have ever heard. She deserves far better than pushing costumes around, although I realise that decision was out of your hands. And since her glorious debut at the bistro a few nights ago she has already been offered the role of Marguerite in Faust."

"I was at the bistro that night and heard her myself. I must say that you have done a wonderful job in coaching her voice. But Erik… you have never shown any interest in teaching anyone, ever. Why now?"

He closed his eyes again for a few moments. "Because... because her voice is so pure and enchanting, and I wanted to help her nurture her great talent and ensure she gets the recognition she deserves. Also, she is alone in the world with no-one to help her with her career."

"And there is no other reason? You simply want to teach her? There is no... personal reason?"

Erik swallowed and looked at the ground. "No," he replied simply, but he did not raise his head.

The two of them sat in deafening silence and eventually Erik got up to make tea. When he brought the tray, he fumbled with it so much that Gerard had to take it from him before something was broken and the two of them continued to sit, hardly touching their tea, both waiting for the other to talk.

It was Gerard who broke the silence.

"I have no doubt that you have done wonders with her voice. But…" He put down his cup and ran his fingers through his grey hair. "Erik, there are music teachers here or elsewhere in Paris, good, competent teachers who could coach Christine and further her career-"

"No!" Erik exclaimed, causing his friend to jump.

"But if your interest in Miss Daae is purely professional as you claim it is, surely it hardly matters who teaches her as long as she-"

All of the masked man's composure was gone as he leapt to his feet, making the tea set clatter.

"No-one else will nurture her voice as I can! No-one else can be her guide or her confidante or… If you send her to someone else they will simply see her as one in a long line of students. I will not allow it!"

His breathing was ragged as he stood there, exposed as if he was naked, and he stared helplessly at his friend and guardian, the very person he hoped would understand.

"Erik, please…" Gerard begged softly.

"You want to take her from me." He sounded like he was about to cry.

"Erik, you need to end this. Please, for both your sakes."

He sat, defeated, trembling. The phantom of the opera, with his arrogance and his air of majesty was a child again. Uttering a cry of pain, he placed his masked face in his hands.

"Gerard, please, don't ask me to do this. I can't. I can't give her up. I... I need her, don't you understand? Hers is the voice I have heard every night, all my life…"

"Oh God…"

"When she sings… when she sings, Gerard, it is as if I am transported to Heaven. She talks to me, she smiles at me… She has touched me! She has caressed my shoulder. She has embraced me! A beautiful woman, no, an angel, has embraced me!"

"Erik…"

The effect such simple affection was having on his son was enough to move Gerard to tears and he could not look at him. Instead he sat beside Erik, awkwardly placed his hand on his shoulder and kept it there until his trembling stopped, in an attempt to offer a little of the comfort he so badly needed. Looking up, with tears glistening in his eyes Erik tried to smile a little at the one human being he had any kind of interaction with, apart from Christine of course. The two of them just sat there for a little while in the eerie darkness with only the sound of the water to break the silence.

Fully composed, Erik sat up straight, determined to maintain some kind of dignity and furious with himself for appearing so weak.

"I'm sorry, my friend, I didn't mean to make a fool of myself like that."

"Erik, you didn't. It's quite all right, you know. But I'm afraid we need to talk about Christine again."

"Gerard, I have to keep teaching her. Don't you understand? I... I cannot imagine my life without her. Or do you think that it is impossible for someone as monstrous as I am to love a woman?"

"I have never thought that, Erik, on the contrary in fact. But there are so many things you don't understand about the world, things I've never told you. The thought of you being hurt in any way bothers me more than you can imagine."

Those sad eyes were upon him, making him look away.

"I know she must never see my face, have no fear of that. But perhaps she will love me, even with my mask?"

That childlike question… It broke his heart. For surely Christine would want to see the face of her teacher and guide as she got to know him better, and then what would happen? She was so innocent, so unworldly… After all, even he couldn't look at Erik's face and he was his father!

After a while, Erik asked, "Haven't you ever been in love?"

Gerard's troubled expression returned. "Yes, once."

"And you didn't marry her?"

"She died," he replied simply, but those two words contained more sad memories than he could bear to think about.

"Oh… I'm so sorry, my friend. I had no idea…"

"No need to be sorry, it was a long time ago. But Erik," he continued, his voice becoming firmer, "You must promise me something. You must promise me that you will never… that you will never hurt Christine."

"Hurt her? Of course I would never hurt her! How could you suggest such a thing?"

"Have you ever brought her down here?"

"No, I teach her in the music room and we use the piano there. A small liberty, considering it is my opera house. Ours, I should say. It is more convenient for Christine in any case."

_Does he even understand what I'm implying?_ Gerard thought sadly. _How could he?_

The tea was cold now, so they nibbled on the tiny biscuits that Erik had put out, and both of them tried to make small talk about the upcoming production and other matters, but all the while the former manager knew that his duties were not at an end. His unofficial ones anyway.

"Christine is certainly making excellent progress. Everyone loved her that night at the bistro", the older man remarked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

"Yes, especially her old _friend_, the Comte de Chagny. Did you know that she left with him? I was waiting for her, you see, waiting to congratulate her on her success."

"I'm sorry."

"But she is my friend and I will continue to help her. I must – Carlotta will stand in her way otherwise, and ultimately she will crush her. Thanks to her idiotic husband she is still convinced that she can sing and refuses to acknowledge otherwise, against all common sense. But Christine will take her place soon; I have no doubt of it. Now if you will excuse me, I have to prepare my music for our next lesson, so perhaps you would be kind enough to leave me in peace for a while?"

"I will have to return, you know. I have to keep an eye on all of... this."

"May I remind you that you are retired, M. Carriere and anything that happens in this opera house, whether above the earth or below it, is none of your concern. Now perhaps you should go home and, I don't know, read the newspaper or whatever it is you people up there do in your spare time."

Usually a remark like the last one would have been fairly jovial but there was a harshness in Erik's voice and the look in his eyes was one that would brook no argument.

_Something has changed_ Gerard thought sadly as he departed. Christine might not be in immediate danger but he knew from Philippe that he was definitely fond of her and that she felt the same. Erik would not be able to accept this. His world was made up of black and white certainties and his unrestrained emotions were yet to be unleashed fully.

He almost got caught by an unsuspecting charlady just as the panel closed, but he muttered something about looking for his lost handkerchief and hurried out the front door, avoiding eye contact. As he walked home to prepare his lunch, he realised that he should have known Erik would not give Christine up. The irony was that under normal circumstances he would be proud and happy if his son brought home a lovely young lady like Christine; what father wouldn't be? But these were far from normal circumstances. It was too late for Erik to start living in the world beyond the Opera House.

This was all happening because what he had begun all those years ago with his cowardice and weakness, and now he was trapped into finding a resolution. Some duties could never be relinquished.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Time did not exist for Erik beyond lessons now. His day could be split into three phases: anticipation of the lesson, the lesson itself, and the time of glorious reflection that followed it. And each of those phases were as wonderful as the other, for all of them involved Christine.

Christine. How did he ever exist before she came here? When he chose the music for their lesson he tried to imagine her singing it and what she would think of it. When the lesson was over, he lived it over and over in his mind, remembering how she smiled as she sang, how her voice soared to heights she was not aware of until recently, analysing every look and word, longing to be with her again, even as he sat far below in his dark kingdom.

And the lessons themselves… At first she was shy, hesitant, constantly afraid that she would displease him. But then, her confidence grew along with her voice and she would timidly offer him little stories about her day; a funny remark she had overheard, something embarrassing that had happened to Carlotta (those stories were his favourite) or something she had done during her time off – visiting the park or a market for example.

Oh, why was he monstrous? Why was he confined to the bowels of the Opera House? How he longed to accompany her on these little outings, to walk with her in the Bois de Boulogne, to buy her the dresses she admired in the windows of the more expensive shops or even to take her to the theatre or to a ball. To walk down a street with her, with the sunlight on his face… yes, he could do that, he was sure of it; never mind the stares and the rude comments, he could do anything, surely, if Christine was by his side?

Although she was settled into the Opera House world now and happy with her life, he continued to watch over her, without her even knowing it. The Comte's female companions continued to tease her but she took it all in her stride, which was better for all concerned for if they dared to bully or upset his protégé they would answer to him. She was a little overwhelmed by the size of her role in Faust but he was guiding her gently through it, determined that the whole of Paris should hear the voice he loved so much. And this time she would not be singing in a noisy bistro with ignorant people talking over her, but here in the Opera House!

One thing stood in his way; the Comte de Chagny. He had never thought much of this pompous young fashion plate but his interest in Christine was something that Erik could not forgive. Understand, certainly, but not forgive.

He saw them together. He saw her leave with him one afternoon and they were smiling at each other, just as he dreamt she would smile at him. When they returned, Christine was carrying a bunch of flowers which earned her a sneer from Carlotta but she seemed unflappable. She should have been more worried about the glare that Philippe received from a certain masked musician who was watching from the shadows. Interestingly, she offered the other girls no comments or opinions either way on this deepening friendship; usually the other performers could not wait to share every detail of their relationships with their colleagues.

No, she was not like them. She was polite and friendly to all her colleagues but she was nothing like them. She must be an angel, he thought sometimes, for how could the world Above have produced such innocence and purity?

And Carlotta… No, he could spare no sympathy or compassion for her; not just for her lack of talent but for the way she would speak to Christine. His sabotage of her debut performance was a source of amusement for him for a long time afterwards. Honestly, it was very careless of her to leave her wig lying around when there was a ghost in the building!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

When he entered Box 5 one evening, he was surprised to see Gerard sitting there. Of course, he acted like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"You do know you are the only person I will allow to sit here?"

"I feel honoured," he replied, completely deadpan.

"You really do miss this place, don't you?"

"I don't like the way it's being run now, with that buffoon at the helm. Still, a season ticket is the least they can do for me."

"That sounds like something I would say."

Gerard raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

It was a fairly mediocre performance, the upcoming production of Faust being the main focus of the company at the moment. At the interval, Gerard tentatively asked about Christine again.

"She is almost ready, my friend. You will be there to see her?"

"Of course. Philippe has invited me-" He stopped abruptly, aware of his mistake.

"Why is it that the only two people in my life seem to prefer his company to mine?" Erik growled.

"That's a little unfair, don't you think?"

Erik sighed. "You're right, forgive me. Everything is just overwhelming at the moment."

"I…I am sure it will all work out for the best," Gerard offered weakly, aware that it could easily work out just the opposite.

He endured the increasingly uncomfortable atmosphere for as long as he could before excusing himself and returning to his own seat. But he was still uneasy. It all felt like the calm before a particularly nasty storm.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

She occupied all his thoughts now. Whenever he returned to his dark realm, he would imagine what it would be like to bring her here. Would she be frightened? Would she enjoy sailing across the lagoon with all the eerie colours reflected in the water? He could show her his world, take her for walks in his forest, let her see that little part of her own world that he had re-created here. Perhaps she would find her favourite animal? Perhaps she would sing for him? She might even embrace him again…

He swallowed nervously at the thought. He could bring her here, he thought, just for a cup of tea perhaps or even a meal. Should he invite her? How did one do that? It always seemed so easy in books.

After Faust. Yes, that was when he would bring her down here to his world, to show her everything. After her success, when the elite of Parisian society had heard her sing. He would wait for her to leave the stage after her rapturous encore and after she had rested a little he would go to her. They could celebrate down here together; he was sure he could find some nice food and wine for them both. He was not keen on venturing out to the market but he would do it for her. He would do anything for her.

His mind made up, he practised leading an invisible Christine down the steps to the lagoon where the boat would be waiting to carry them to his domain.

"Welcome to my home," he "told" her… _No, that wasn't right, maybe I should sound gentler?_

But there was one thought that dominated all others.

_Surely she will love me then…_


	7. Chapter 7

**This chapter is based on the Faust scene and it follows the events of the 2 part series more closely than previous chapters, although there may be minor differences. All reviews are welcome, as usual, and thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far!**

Inspector Ledoux was baffled as he sat in the stalls with his men, waiting impatiently for the performance to begin. In a career spanning more than three decades he had never encountered such an unusual case as this one. Someone was living below the Opera House, playing tricks on the manager's wife, making demands, sending notes and calling himself "the phantom of the opera"... Well, one thing was obvious: this perpetrator was no more a ghost than he was himself. And elusive as he may be, he would not escape the grasp of Inspector Albert Ledoux.

Up until now, he had enjoyed a fairly successful career, which had given him a comfortable home in a pleasant arrondisement of Paris and a good education at the convent for his two daughters. Of course, it helped that his job had given him many influential contacts and this was reflected in the very welcome bonuses he received every Christmas. After all, despite his adequate salary, he and his wife deserved to have the nicer things in life after all his hard work. Indeed, life was good for him and he was eternally grateful and relieved that he was not based in one of the less salubrious districts, like some of his friends.

Not that the area he was responsible for was free of crime; indeed the wealthy patrons of the Opera House were easy prey for the thieves and pickpockets that tended to loiter around there, and similar establishments, at night. Thankfully these incidents were relatively unusual but when they did occur his men were always on hand to give pursuit. But he always relished those occasions when Jean Claude or the manager would send for his good self. He enjoyed coming to this splendid building, walking across the foyer with all the authority that his position entitled him to and taking down the details methodically before consoling the victims and assuring them that the culprit would be caught. And thanks to his extensive knowledge of Paris, he was almost always successful.

He did miss Gerard Carriere though; everyone did. He was always so courteous and deferential, not to mention grateful for the help of the gendarmes. Ledoux even used to visit him in his office every now and again and chat with him, just to make sure all was well and to let the manager know that he was always at his service. And the service of his clientele, of course.

But over the years, there were incidents with the company itself of items being stolen or moved to the most unlikely places or even voices coming from within the walls. These were the cases that baffled him the most. And although Gerard was always his usual charming self on these occasions there were moments when the seasoned inspector knew his old acquaintance was hiding something. But what?

This new manager seemed to be as much in the dark as everyone else, however, and much less tolerant of the "ghost's" antics than his predecessor. At first, this fellow's actions seemed ridiculous: putting fleas in Carlotta's wig, indeed! Was this why he became a gendarme – to investigate wigs? But both of them were sure that something else was afoot, something sinister, and neither of them would rest until "that masked fiend" as they called him, was caught. So that was why he seemed to be practically living at the Opera House these days and why he was currently waiting for the curtain to open on the latest production of some opera he knew nothing about. He was hunting down a glorified practical joker in a mask who haunted the catacombs of the Opera House. What strange reports he seemed to be writing these days. Still, there were worse places to spend an evening…

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The Opera House was buzzing with noise and excitement as old friends greeted each other and gossip and scandal were exchanged. Who was marrying who, who was feeling under the weather, who didn't receive an invitation to such-and-such a party…But this was no ordinary night, this was the professional debut of Christine Daae, an unknown costume assistant and chorus girl, who was already attracting attention for her beautiful voice and the elite of Paris were looking forward to it.

Philippe strolled into his usual box, having wished Christine every success beforehand. If he had stayed a little longer, he may have noticed Carlotta arriving with a strange herbal brew in her hand and a malicious glint in her eye. But why would he have suspected anything? He thought too well of people for any suspicious thoughts of that nature.

Following behind was Gerard, pleased to have such a grand view for one of his favourite operas: Faust. Indeed, both men enjoyed it and were looking forward to the evening ahead, particularly the opportunity to hear Christine sing.

"Mother sends her apologies but she has decided to stay on in Monte Carlo for a little longer," Philippe told his friend, "Apparently she hasn't seen enough of the place yet."

"Not to worry. Greet her for me when she returns, won't you?"

"Of course."

Gerard looked out over the auditorium he knew so well, casting a professional eye over everything and noted with satisfaction that the place looked clean, well-cared for and more than presentable. The chandelier was gleaming and looking as magnificent as ever, up there in its lofty heights above the audience. He nodded and waved discreetly at old friends and acquaintances, all of whom looked happy to see him again. Time to forget about Erik for a little while.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Choletti was there of course, revelling in the success of his latest business venture and the world it had introduced him to. Much better than the dirty factories or "those horrible little shops" (as Carlotta called them) which he'd owned back in Rome. Mind you, they'd given the two of them a nice life, which was a good thing for all concerned as his wife had very expensive tastes. The lady in question sat next to him, fanning herself and waiting listlessly for the opening curtain as the orchestra tuned their instruments. At that moment he could not have guessed her diabolical plan to ruin Christine or all the events that it would lead to. All he knew was that she was determined to become the star of this company and he would not have a quiet life until she did.

Unknown to everyone, Erik stood behind the curtain in his usual box, watching, waiting. He waited for her, of course, for tonight all of these people would hear the voice he loved. When he saw Philippe, waving at friends and looking completely at home in his private box, he clenched his fist but managed to remain quiet.

_Is that all it takes to be popular or to court a young lady?_ he thought sadly, _A handsome face?_

But of course it was all it took; didn't everyone up here love beauty? A creature such as himself had no place in this world. That was why Gerard kept him down below when he was a child and why he had to wear a mask.

Gerard was sitting next to the young man, as Erik knew he would be. He looked over at his old friend, protector, guardian, uncle….

_Uncle_. Oh, he was more than that, Erik knew that now. Perhaps he had always known, deep down. Why else would he give up so much of his life, especially now that his duties as manager were finished, to help, console and support him? And why did he, the dreaded Phantom, sometimes feel this overwhelming need to deepen their friendship, to look for affection from him, to cheer him up, to spend time with him? Why, above all, were their eyes so alike?

He wondered if Gerard would ever tell him. But it was no wonder he had kept it a secret all these years – who would want to admit that their son was a monster? Gerard had been handsome when he was younger and Erik mourned inwardly when he thought how disappointed he must have been when his hideous son was born. _No wonder he hid me away_…

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The performance began, and Gerard even found himself looking over the props and feeling a certain tinge of regret that Erik had not chosen them. He also wondered how many of them would end up being "borrowed" by the mysterious phantom.

Christine came on stage, looking as beautiful as ever in her peasant's costume, and Gerard was briefly reminded of Belladora's wonderful debut on this very stage, so long ago. Hopefully she would receive the same rapturous applause at the end. Philippe could hardly take his eyes off her and his friend watched him with interest and amusement. Perhaps this little dalliance was more genuine than the others?

They watched the colourful events unfolding on the stage and the sight of Faust and Mephistopheles revelling with the villagers. And then it was time for Christine to sing and both men seemed to be waiting with bated breath, along with everyone in that auditorium.

Her voice faltered and a wheezy, gasping sound came out.

A little shocked, she tried again, only to produce the same gasping sound, but more strained this time and punctuated by coughs.

Again and again she tried, as the cast panicked, the audience grew restless and Erik stood at the front of the box, disregarding the police officers in the audience, astonished and bewildered as his protégé tried in vain to produce the same notes they had worked so hard on together.

Her heart pounded as she failed to produce anything but that horrible sound and even thought the rest of the cast tried to calm the audience, they were starting to boo and heckle her most cruelly. When they started throwing their theatre programmes at her, she could not stop the tears from flowing and tried to hide among the other actors, terrified and bewildered.

Over the noise, few could hear the cruel, heartless cackle of a certain diva. Or the cry of "No! NO!" coming from Box 5. But someone heard the latter.

For a moment Gerard forgot he was no longer the manager and shouted for the curtain to be lowered. But at that moment he saw Erik dart out of his box and in a split second he was doing the same, as Philippe took up the call for the curtain. Whatever Erik was planning, he would have to put a stop to it. _Heaven knows what he could do in that blind anger_.

With fierce determination, the enraged phantom ran up to the flies, pushed the chief stagehand aside and made straight for the pulley that held the chandelier in place, sword in hand. "Erik, no!" Gerard shouted helplessly, but it was already too late to stop him. With swift strokes, he cut through the rope and just as Gerard reached him, the last few threads were severed, the mechanism spun out of control and the magnificent chandelier plummeted into the audience at a frightening speed.

"Erik…" he gasped, but his son was already gone, by goodness knows what route. Looking down, he could see a cloaked figure land on the stage where Christine was to trying break away from the melee, and he ran down the steps as fast as his aging body could carry him. Erik was headed straight for Christine, oblivious to all the chaos around him.

_He's going to take her!_ Gerard thought suddenly, and practically flung himself towards them, desperately trying to break the masked man's hold on the terrified young girl as he dragged her from the stage.

"Let her go!" he demanded, but he should have known that his son was too strong for him. With a loud cry, Erik pushed him violently against the wall and the pain and the momentary shock meant that the two of them were far away by the time he was on his feet.

When Philippe ran over and frantically asked him where Christine was, he pleaded ignorance of course but he knew all too well. He did not try to stop the young man as he set off in pursuit, but he did not fancy his chances of ever finding them.

The Opera House was in chaos. Broken glass everywhere, people injured or in shock, screaming, crying, orderlies trying to make their way through the crowd… To his credit, Choletti was trying to keep everyone back and to instil some kind of order. Some members of the audience suffered very serious injuries, and this was the end of any semblance of normality for the Opera House or its beleaguered owner.

Having got his breath back, Gerard badly wanted to go down below and find Erik but was waylaid by the ballet mistress who wanted to examine his injuries. He was not badly hurt but this formidable lady regarded herself as the unofficial nurse for the entire company and would not rest until she had satisfied herself that he was not going to faint or bleed to death.

He knew he would have bruises on his arm and shoulder tomorrow but it hardly mattered at the moment, for it was inside where he was in the most pain. His son, his own son, had done all this, had cut down the heavy chandelier in a crowded building in order to distract everyone while he stole Christine away. And then he had pushed him against a wall with such hatred and without a moment's hesitation. Weren't they friends, above all else? Never, in all these years, had Erik ever hurt him physically. Something was happening to him. Christine had awakened something in her maestro, something deadly, and now she would be alone with him, down there…

He had to go down there. Somehow, he would have to get away without being seen. He walked around the chaotic building, helping where he could, trying to think, trying to avoid Ledoux, and trying to figure out what was happening. Why did Christine sing so badly, for a start? Had Erik planned to take her after the performance anyway, or had he decided right there and then? And the question he dreaded – could this new, frightening Erik be persuaded to let her go?

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

All through that flight underground – the escape to the dressing room upstairs, the departure through the secret entrance that even Gerard knew nothing about, the never ending descent of the steps below the building, Erik never stopped. Ignoring Christine's protests, he led her quickly and without pause further and further below, away from hatred and noise and_ people_.

All the while, those hateful catcalls were echoing in his mind, the faces, the programmes being thrown at the stage… He could not yet analyse the reasons for his angel's failure; that would have to come later. But the demonic laughter coming from Carlotta's direction was a substantial clue. Right now, he had to get her away from _them_. He did not stop, not until they were at the top of the final flight of steps that led down to the lagoon where the boat was waiting to take them to his kingdom. _Their_ kingdom. For if that was what the world Above was truly like then Christine would not spend another moment there. She would be safe with him, and only with him.

He paused for a moment and released her hand, allowing her to catch her breath and take in the scene below them. There was fear in her eyes, fear of the dark and of the unknown, but surely she would become accustomed to it all in time? Surely she would grow to love his world, just as he did? With exquisite tenderness he took her hand again, longing to press it to his lips. _Perhaps she will allow me to do that later?_

"There's no need to be afraid," he told her gently, his heart racing as she smiled hesitantly at him. With the greatest of care, he led her down those steps to the boat just as he did in his daydreams, like a king leading his new bride…


End file.
